


It Sure Would Be Prettier With You

by sequinedfairy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Cunnilingus, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequinedfairy/pseuds/sequinedfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's biting her lip, and Zayn has the reflexive desire to kiss her, to soothe the marks with his tongue and replace them with his own indentations. </p>
<p>"I'm gonna quiz you on econ," she says eventually, "and then I think we should have sex."</p>
<p>Zayn stares at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Sure Would Be Prettier With You

**Author's Note:**

> Cowritten! This is an American high school au fic where Harry is a girl and has been Zayn's best friend since they were five. They're seventeen/eighteen (not really specified, but seniors), and they have sex. That's basically it!

Zayn's lying in his bed, trying to read his econ textbook, surrounded by notecards and study guides. He's failing, partially because it's really hard to pay attention to the differences between NASDAQ and DOW in the best of circumstances, and partially because he still can't fucking stop thinking about what Harry said on Friday night, how she told him she wanted him. She sounded so earnest, desperate but also hurt, and Zayn really hopes it means more than just sex. But she hadn't texted or answered his texts all of Saturday—he'd had to ask Lou if she'd gotten home okay—which probably meant more than anything she said while trashed and horny. Still, Zayn keeps replaying the conversation, hoping he hasn't fucked everything up. Harry is weird about feeling rejected, probably because it happens so rarely, and Zayn really doesn’t want to fuck with her while she’s still feeling bad about the shit that douchebag Sam had said when he dumped her a few months ago. 

He was actually studying when the door to his room opened, but Zayn really isn't very surprised when it turned out to be Harry. His parents and sisters pretty much always knock; it was just Harry who has yet to learn that particular skill. Zayn had pretty much given up; she's been failing to knock for over ten years at this point and she isn’t going to change now.

Harry doesn't move from the doorway, or start talking. She has a weird look on her face, fiddling with the shirt cuff of a flannel she stole from him in tenth grade. It was his favorite, but he never really tried that hard to get it back. She’s biting her lip, and Zayn has the reflexive desire to kiss her, to soothe the marks with his tongue and replace them with his own indentations. 

"I'm gonna quiz you on econ," she says eventually, "and then I think we should have sex."

Zayn stares at her. 

"I was pretty serious Friday night," Harry admits.

Just then, Zayn figures out what the look on her face meant. She’s nervous. Harry fucking Styles is nervous about propositioning him.

"Okay," he says, as evenly as he can manage. He sits up and holds out a study guide to her, watching as she retreats to his desk and sat on top of it. It’s weird to have her not on his bed with him, but he wasn't going to make a thing about it. They were apparently having sex, so she'd come closer when she wanted to. 

Harry's gaze settles on his chest, but he doesn't make a move to put on a shirt. Zayn was wearing boxer briefs—Harry once got into his bed completely naked. He’s pretty sure he still had the moral high ground here. 

Harry looks down at the paper, drumming fingers against her thigh. "Tell me expansionary monetary policies," she says, voice even slower than usual, and Zayn does.

The first few questions he could answer on autopilot, and he has no fucking idea what he was saying but Harry nods and he assumes he’s right. But Harry asks him something he doesn’t know, about excise tax and deadweight efficiency loss, and Zayn realizes how fucking ridiculous this is. Harry wants them to fuck, and instead, she’s asking him about macroeconomic theory. 

“Fuck, Haz, please come here,” he says, his control finally breaking, and Harry beams at that, hopping off the desk and striding over to him, pausing at the edge of the bed. Zayn reaches out to her wrist, tugging gently until she’s straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips. He places both his hand on her hips, thumb rubbing right below her hipbone, and she exhales, finally looking more relaxed.

“You know, we could have been doing this for _months,_ ” Harry says reprovingly, “if you had just succumbed earlier to my horniness.”

Zayn laughs. “Sorry, babe. I kind of thought you just wanted, you know, a dick, and not really my dick. I didn’t want to fuck us up for a drunk fuck.”

“Your dick is great,” Harry said, shifting her weight in a way that made him a little uncomfortable, but mostly pretty psyched. “You are too, I guess.”

“Stop it, you’re making me blush,” Zayn said. Harry laughs, loud and bright and sudden, and Zayn wants to kiss her, just like he always does. 

He realizes, when she’s just absently smiling at him again, that he can, that she wants him, and he moves one hand up her back, threading it through her hair, and pulls her that little distance forward. She goes willingly, and he closes the last gap himself, tilting forward just enough that their lips are pressing together, and he’s smiling so dumbly but he can’t stop. His eyes are open, staring into Harry’s stupidly big, stupidly green ones, and they’re too close together and he can’t really focus on her but he doesn’t want to close them, wants to be completely aware and watching for every part of this.

Harry slips her tongue past the seam of his lips and he parts them willingly, biting her bottom lip and tugging a little to make her sigh, slipping his tongue into her mouth to make her tighten her hands in his hair. Zayn slides his hands up the back of her shirt, his shirt, and god he is way too turned on by her wearing his clothes. It’s all smooth, soft skin, back dimples and skinny hips curving into a tiny waist, and he’s seen her naked dozens of times at least, spent hours upon hours cuddling with her, imagined kissing her countless times, but this is better than he could have ever even conceived.

“Holy shit,” Harry manages, pulling away to catch her breath. “This is -- holy fucking shit.”

Zayn laughs a little, overwhelmed. “We’ve made out before,” he points out. He barely remembers it, he was wasted and they only made out for a couple minutes, but this isn’t technically anything new.

Harry kisses him again, like she can’t fucking help it, and Zayn could honestly do this for the rest of his life. “We’re sober,” she manages when he pulls away, his mouth only an inch from hers. “And, fuck, I don’t know. It’s just -- really fucking good.”

Zayn doesn’t reply; he doesn’t know how to reply without saying something that would freak Harry out, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. He kisses her neck instead, just barely using his teeth, and she makes a little noise that goes straight to his dick. He bites a little harder, and Harry moans, tilting her head so he has better access. He keeps going, nips up and down the side of her neck, biting down on her pulse point–harder than he’d normally do this early–but Harry just whimpers, grabbing his head and forcing him to stay there, and when he worries it farther a breathy “fuck, Zayn, fuck,” tumbles out of her mouth like she can’t help it. There’s probably going to be a mark tomorrow, he should probably stop, but fuck it. Harry’s come to school on Monday mornings with hickeys plenty of times, and if he’s being honest with himself, he likes the idea of Harry wearing his marks for everyone to see.

Zayn leaves another mark on her collarbone, popping a button off in his haste to open the shirt and biting down hard enough that Harry let out a surprised “Oh fuck” and grinds down on his thigh like a fucking stripper. Still trying to catch her breath, Harry tugs him back to her mouth, and they slow down, just kissing, pressed against each other. Zayn’s thought about this a million times but he never thought that it would be this easy. He’s not stressed about performing up to her standards or impressing her; everything feels simple and natural and just right. It feels normal, like falling asleep listening to her breathe and seeing her face when he wakes up, and that implies some kind of worrying things, but for now Zayn’s just going to be grateful he gets the chance to find that out.

Biting down his chest, Harry gets to his nipple, and pulls it between her teeth, tugging gently but firmly, and of fucking course Harry knows what he’s into better than he does. He bucks his hips up, his dick straining against the material, and god he really wants to fuck her. Harry shoves him down onto the bed, pulling up at her shirt, desperate, and if Zayn lets it go at this pace it’s going to be over way too soon. He flips them, loving how easy it is to move her where he wants her, and slides down her body. He spends ages exploring the skin already showing, kissing the tops of her breasts, mouthing over the cotton and feeling her nipples get hard through the bra. Harry’s tugging on his hair, trying desperately to move him along, but he’s not going to rush. He doesn’t know how many other chances he’ll get for this, and he’s going to take as long as he can bear for this.

Eventually he’s kissing right about the waistband of her leggings, chin basically in her crotch and hands on her ass, and she’s squirming and begging and cursing, trying to shove his head down. Zayn smirks up at her and slides back up, grinding his hips into hers and undoing her bra, pulling her up by her waist in order to slide her shirt and bra off. 

“Fuck, come on, Zayn, fucking fuck me already, what are you waiting for,” Harry bitches, wrapping her legs around Zayn’s waist as he presses her into the bed. Her hair is fucked up and her boobs are incredible and Zayn’s not going to last more than a fucking minute inside her, and he -- it can’t be over that soon.

He peels off her leggings, kissing the red marks of indentation at the waistband and replacing them with his own bruises, and then spreads her legs, settling in between them. She’s wearing underwear, dark purple and lace and nicer than usual, and god, she must have planned this, put these on for the purpose of having Zayn take them off, and Zayn thinks he might die. He looks up at her, just wanting to check in, and when she meets his eyes, all he can manage is “Can I?”

There’s a long silence, and Zayn licks his lips, embarrassed. “Oh fuck,” Harry says, sounding astonished. “Yes, fuck, of course, now, yes, you’re adorable, fuck, yes.”

Zayn snickers. “I mean, maybe you’d rather someone else do it? Someone who’s hot instead of adorable?” He can’t seem to stop teasing her even when he’s about to go down on her, which is weird but oddly nice. She sticks her tongue out at him, and he licks over the fabric of her underwear, and he can feel how fucking wet she is.

“Oh my god,” Harry says. “You’re hot just please–”

Zayn wants to make her wait a little longer, wants to bite her thighs and make her really desperate, but she’s desperate enough already and he needs to do this now. He rubs over her clit through her underwear again, watching her squirm, then hooks his fingers in the waistband before she can say anything and pulls them off. And yeah, he’s seen this, and it’s probably pretty weird that he’s seen this, but this is another level entirely. 

“Come on,” Harry says, whimpering a little, and that’s definitely the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. He licks around her, not giving her exactly what she wants, watching her fucking fall to pieces, holding her hips down with one hand so he can control this. “Zayn, fuck, fingers, now.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” he says, slipping one finger inside her.

“You’ve met me,” she tells him with a smirk, her breath catching as he leans down to lick at her clit. “Fuck.”

He grins and gives her another finger, his thumb and his tongue both on her clit, and she bucks her hips up. He slides his palm over her stomach, making sure she doesn’t move too much. He’s speeding up a little, not able to resist making this really fucking good for her, and suddenly her hands are fisted in his hair and she’s just saying his name over and over again and—wow. He kisses her thighs, not sure if she wants to come immediately.

“Three?” she says, dragging her thumb over his lips. He looks up at her and she looks fucking wrecked, her hair everywhere, flushed and really turned on. “I—get me off, fuck, Zayn, come on.” He keeps looking at her, not wanting it to be over so soon. “It’s fine,” Harry manages, “I can come again, just–fuck.”

“I have a better idea,” he says, getting three fingers inside her alongside his tongue, and she fucking moans, and he just can’t. He rubs his thumb right below her clit, listening to her curse him and brushing over her clit whenever he wants to make her break off in the middle of a word. He got pretty good at going down on girls this summer but he’s never been into it like this. His dick is aching, hard enough that it’s fucking uncomfortable, but all his attention is on Harry, on finding the exact rhythm that’ll make her fall apart.

“FuckfuckfuckohZaynfuckjustlikethatyes,” Harry moans, all in one breath, like she can’t remember how to inhale, and Zayn continues, flicking his tongue over her clit rapidly, fucking her and crooking his fingers just right inside her. She’s fucking gorgeous like this, one hand tugging hard enough on Zayn’s hair to hurt and her fingers digging bruises into his shoulder, mouth open in a perfect o, hips moving uncontrollably. 

She starts shaking and clenching around his finger and Zayn starts to slow down, because most girls have gotten pretty overwhelmed with getting fucked while coming. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she spits out, and Zayn speeds up instead, fucking her through her orgasm, keeping his thumb on her clit but rubbing with slow circles instead of frantic jerks. 

After the aftershocks, Harry yanks Zayn up, kissing the taste of herself sloppily out of his mouth. “When the fuck did you get so good at cunnilinguis?” she demands, looking halfway between impressed and jealous. “Jesus fucking Christ, Zayn, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.”

Zayn laughs, easy, fingers still sunk inside of Harry but still able to make fun of her. “I mean, unlike you, I don’t feel the need to constantly brag to my friends about my sexual accomplishments. I like to keeps the mystery alive.”

Smiling up at him, uncomplicated, fucked-out, happy, Harry tells him, “Okay, I’m gonna ignore that snide remark in favor of you fucking me right now.” Zayn raises an eyebrow at her—every girl he’s been with has needed at least a few minutes after coming—and Harry shrugs. “I’m into overstimulation. Come on, asshole, get a fucking condom.”

Zayn pulls his fingers out and reaches over to the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a Batman comic in a sleeve. Harry cracks up, and Zayn hits her, saying, “It’s the only place I know both you and my mom won’t look, asshole.” He dumps the comic onto the bed, condoms spilling out, and grabs one and shoves everything else off the bed. 

He’s about to open it when Harry takes it out of his hand, still sort of giggling, and then rips it open with her teeth. And then she’s not giggling, because her _mouth_ is on his _dick,_ rolling it down like a fucking pro, and Zayn is so turned on. She’s about to settle on top of him when he flips them over, spreading her legs and kissing her until she’s begging, hand gripping the back of his neck and cursing him with increasing desperation.

He slides in slowly, and Jesus fucking Christ he feels like a virgin again, everything about Harry is so fucking overwhelming. She won’t stop talking, mostly curses and Zayn’s name and bossy one-word directions, and it’s so hot but he also feels like he’s going to die. 

He gets all the way in and pauses, just trying to catch his breath and make this last, and Harry fucking kicks him, banging her heel against his lower back, hard. He starts laughing, breathless and turned on because of course Harry would kick him when he was literally inside of her.

“Move, you fu—fucking bastard,” Harry demands, biting down on his neck and shit that hurt but Zayn really doesn’t mind. “Just fuck me, come on, it’s not that hard.”

Kissing her as an apology, Zayn moves, fucking her as well as he can. She’s gone not quite quiet but almost underneath him, only breathy little moans and choked off sounds that sound kind of like Zayn’s name, like she’s too overwhelmed to even say a complete word. 

Harry slips a hand between them to rub her clit, and Zayn groans and asks, “Fuck, god, can I?”

Harry nods frantically, and Zayn replaces her hand with his own, moving his fingers and hips faster and faster. He’s fucking her deep, kissing her and sliding one hand up her back, and she’s so tight and hot and he just can’t fucking handle it, has been jerking off thinking about this for years, and she looks so fucked up and beautiful under him, mouth bitten red and swollen and cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She’s still begging, so he kneels, lifting her hips with one hand, getting a better angle, and fucks into her, laughing a little when she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. 

“Fuck you,” Harry says, barely getting the words out. Zayn leans down and kisses her, hot and messy and so fucking good, taking his hand off her clit and instead rubbing over her nipple until she can’t breathe. He’s barely moving, but she’s still making little noises, and he -- kind of just wants to do this forever, driving her crazy until she’s flushed and breathless and just wants him. He can feel himself getting close, and fucks her harder, manhandling her into the angle he wants and rubbing his thumb right under her clit, watching carefully to see what makes her moan.

He tries to kiss her through it, but his head falls as he starts to come, biting her neck and trying to get her off too. He doesn’t really succeed before he gets too overwhelmed, going limp and collapsing on top of her. Harry gives him a few moments before she starts shoving, saying, “Get off, fatty, you’re crushing me.”

He pulls out, kissing her when she makes a face, and pulls the condom off and ties it up, throwing it off the bed and hopefully somewhere near the trash. He manages to flop down next to Harry, pulling her on top of him to cuddle. “You’re gonna have to give me a sec,” he says, feeling her grind down on his thigh a little, definitely -- pretty wet, and wow she has a good recovery time. She sucks a kiss into his neck, so filthy and messy that it shouldn’t even be attractive, biting a little, and he shivers.

“Do you think I can get you hard again?” she asks, her lips against his jaw. “Should I try?”

Zayn doesn’t respond to that, instead positioning her between his legs and tracing a finger down her stomach. She squirms when he gets to her hipbones, and he smirks, not moving any further, because he fucking loves having this power over her, driving her this crazy when it’s usually the other way around, usually her sleeping half-naked on top of him while he tries to ignore his boner like he’s back in eighth grade. “Come on,” she says, sounding wrecked again, and he obeys, sliding two fingers inside her. She fucking whines, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. He rubs over her clit with her thumb, not teasing her anymore, fucking into her, and she’s cursing and saying his name and she’s so desperate, and suddenly she’s coming, her nails digging into his thigh, biting her lip.

“Fuck,” Harry says, curling up on top of him. “Who the fuck taught you to do that? What the fuck?”

Zayn kisses her. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, Haz.”

“No it’s _not,_ ” Harry says. “If you’re not careful I’m going to start only loving you for your fingers.”

“What about my dick?”

“Yeah, and your tongue too.”

Zayn shrugs. “At least you’ll love three parts of me,” he says. “I feel like it could definitely be worse.”

“If you ever start hating me I’m going to pay you for sex anyway,” Harry informs him. “Also, before that happens, I want to suck your dick.”

Zayn’s pretty sure that’s okay with him. It definitely doesn’t hurt that she’s making no move to leave, nuzzling into him shamelessly and letting her eyes close, dragging the comforter on top of them. They haven’t actually talked about what this means for their friendship and normally Zayn would be freaking out, but he can’t think clearly enough for that. They’ll wake up to Zayn’s mom banging on the door and Harry’ll have dinner with his family, and they’ll figure out what they are then. No matter what, he’ll have had this, Harry’s long body wrapped around his, her smile tucked into his neck. If he’s lucky (and he’s feeling pretty fucking lucky right now), this might even become the new normal for their friendship.


End file.
